


Hurricane

by le_chat_vilain



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst, Cussing, Season 2, vaneeleanor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 17:23:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5057284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/le_chat_vilain/pseuds/le_chat_vilain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eleanor makes the choice to go through with the plan to take Abigail Ashe from the fort without Vane’s consent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hurricane

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first Black Sails fic I’ve ever written, so hopefully it works okay! I have been itching to write these two for a while now and it was hella fun! Title and musical inspiration come from the song Hurricane by Thirty Seconds To Mars. It popped into my head just after I watched this scene and I just have associated it with them ever since!

She waits, her head resting on his chest, watching his stomach rise and fall with each breath as he slips deeper and deeper into the arms of sleep. She steels her resolve, locking her feelings away behind an iron door, focusing on her mission. She bargains with herself, tells herself she’s doing this for him just as much as she is for Nassau. Convinces herself that she’s not a slave to her own self servitude, not dressing up her selfish motivations as martyrdom, all the while knowing the truth is quite the opposite.

Before she has a chance to go back on her promise she rises slowly so as not to wake him, dressing quickly and kissing him softly one last time before she burns the bridge once and for all, knowing he’ll never forgive her for this.

_I’m sorry, Charles, I truly am._

She retrieves the governor’s daughter, and they make their escape through the bowels of the fort.

_***_

He wakes with a shiver to find himself alone but with her warmth still lingering on his chest, and he knows: she’s screwed him again. He pulls on his pants and stalks through the halls, past the place where the girl had been detained, down the stairs and through the tunnels, the crunching and clanging of iron on iron reverberating louder and louder as he draws nearer, the smell of damp and rust assaulting his senses.

If he can’t stop her, if he can’t change her mind then he knows what it will mean, what the men will do to him; she may as well have run him through herself.

He curses himself for loving such a wonderfully wretched woman, how even in a moment like this, when he hates her more than he’s ever hated anyone, his love remains ever infinite.

***

Those piercing green eyes locked on hers, he begs her in his own way: a heart felt plea armored in a very real threat.

Everything they’ve been through, every touch, every kiss, every fight, and every word flashes before her eyes. The feeling of his hands gripping her hips, his strength as he bends her and twists her with his every ministration. The electric charge that runs through her entire being at the mere sound of his voice and all of the emotions it brings to life. The thumping of her heart and the boiling of her blood when he challenges her in the way that only he can; it all surges to the surface, breaking down the door demanding to be acknowledged and plead its case.

Even after everything he’s done, for all the ways he’s fucked her over, all the trouble he’s caused and the threat he poses she still loves him; still questions if this cost is simply too great for her to finance.

This would be her ultimate sacrifice, and what frightens her most isn’t what comes next, it isn’t the knowledge that their souls are so deeply entwined that in doing this she’s offering up her own as well. It’s not that her ambition is so insatiable that she’s come this far already. It’s the fact that she knows she’s still capable of making it.

And with a turn of a key, she does. The sound of the tumblers falling into place is devastating to her ears, and she feels the weight in each and every one as they shatter her heart, pulverizing it mercilessly until it’s nothing but grains of sand on the shore of an ocean of tears and unspoken grief.

But if there’s one thing she knows to be irrefutably true about Charles Vane, it’s that he is a survivor. If anyone can survive this, it will be him, and when he does, when the fruits of her labor are finally realized, then he’ll understand. He may never forgive her, but she’ll prove to him that the ends will justify the means.

And if it doesn’t, if Flint is wrong and they truly are playing Icarus in his final hours, none of it will matter; they’ll all be swinging in the breeze side by side while the hangman collects his due.

***

He watches her go, feels the twist of her blade as she turns away from him, leaving him to fight for his life once more.

The anger tries to take hold of him but disappointment proves the stronger force. Disappointment not in her, but in himself. In his inability to turn her away, in his enslavement to her, mind body and soul. The way he so easily gives up control to her, almost without resistance at all.

He saw this coming from miles away, he watched it transpire in slow motion from a metaphorical crows nest as though it were happening to someone else. A voice in his head telling him not to trust her, that he can’t trust her, and he let it all play out again because he needs her like an alcoholic needs rum or a gambler needs a bet.

He’s addicted to her. To the sharpness of her tongue and the softness of her skin. To the taste of her kiss and the sound of his name as it rings from her lips. To her tempest and her ruthless cunning, and the way that nothing else makes him feel alive the way that she does.

And just like drink is so often the death of the drunk, she looks to be the death of him.

But he knows there is one thing he has always done with or without her: survived. The cogs turn in his mind as the strategy unfolds, and he knows what he has to do, that there’s only one way to sell this to the crew and keep his head.

Disappointment recedes and gives way to resolution, as with a heavy heart he sets the plan in motion.

If her faith in her cause is so strong that she would lay down his life to see it realized, if her ambition is that much greater than the love she claims to bear for him, then he will test her until she breaks, and then he will break her some more until she’s left scrambling to retrieve the scraps of her decimated soul from upon her hard won throne.

If she seeks to see him suffer, to punish him for whatever crimes she deems him guilty of, then he will see her suffer alongside him tenfold.

If she’s so willing to offer up her heart to see this venture through, then he would see her offer it in full, and he would chase that ransom to the ends of the earth, with all the tenacity and wrath of the cornered animal that she has reduced him to.

_I’m sorry, Eleanor. I truly am._


End file.
